Sick Day
by candelight
Summary: Turtle tot fiction! Oh, no...everyone in the Hamato household is sick! Everyone that is...except Leo! Can one determined turtle tot tend a sick father and three brothers, when it seems like everything is falling apart at the seams?
1. Yuck

Sick Day

先生。 Leoは日を救う! 、Hamatoの一族逃げなさい!

Two-shot turtle tot fiction! Oh, no...everyone in the Hamato household is sick! Everyone that is...except Leo! Can one determined turtle tot tend a sick father and three brothers, when it seems like everything is falling apart at the seams?

Hallo, everyone! ^^ I hope you're all well-went through a bit of depression for awhile, or my own personal 'sick day.' But I'm alright now, and am in the mood to turn myself over to the muse. :D It wants a turtle tot story. And peaches, for some reason. I've craving one right now...

*Blinks, starts.* Oh! Sorry. This fiction is for all of my kind readers, who cheer me on. *Blushes, looks at ground.* Shucks. Will not cry, will not cry, will not...

Ah, who am I kidding? *Bursts into tears.*

Please, take care everyone, and remember, I do not own the turtles! (Thankfully...ah, well...^^)

* * *

_Quote:_

_"There's just one cure for a cold in the head..._

_A hot cup of cocoa, and a nice, warm bed."_

It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair.

The red clad turtle angrily snuffled, sneezed, and swabbed at his nose with a small fist, before ducking underneath his cotton comforters. Grumbling, Raph soon kicked them off, burying his fevered face in his already hot pillow, shuddering.

There had to be somethin' in tat law book Don read sometimes that said when ya got sick, you had something to legally contract that you'd be well again soon; some sort of guarantee, dumb idea though it was. That guarantee was usually your mom or dad or somethin', it seemed, but they oughta put it into the books.

...not that the law explicitly applied to mutant terrapin creatures, but all the same, it didn't seem fair that...well...Raph relaxed just a little bit, kicking his feet on the bed.

He didn't need lookin' after. He was seven years old, plenty old enough to know the ways of the world. 'N stuff. 'N whatever.

Raph glared at the bed beside him, which beheld Mikey's coughing figure. The little prankster had caught the bug just hours before Raph did, and probably went around da sewas touching everything within reach to spread it to the others. Raph fondly wished he had the strength to bap him, but it seemed a difficult task to do when Mikey was hackin' like that, even if he were in good health.

Don's face was hot and flushed; several crumpled tissues lay about his blankets; only, instead of Raph, who found the room far too hot, Don couldn't seem to get any warmth. He lay huddled over, and Raph was fairly positive that if it were possible for the Hamato turtles to disappear inside of their shells, Don would have long ago. Judging by how Don's teeth were chattering, you'd think Santa and Jack Frost were havin' ice cream cones in here.

Raph plunked on his shell, staring at the ceiling. It was miserable. He wished he could simply fall asleep until this rotten mess was over, and he could run around again. His head hurt, his body ached, and shook with fever, his throat burned, and his stomach felt ready to send any mail it received 'back to sender' express-style.

And the smell he could faintly discern with his stuffy nose coming from the kitchen wasn't making him feel any better. Raph sighed.

_If only Masta' Splinta wasn't down, too._

Sensei was good with this kind of stuff. He'd hold your head over the toilet while you threw up, and when ya felt like going to shell pieces after that, he'd remind you to rinse your mouth before you got a cold fizzy drink. Raph perked up at the idea. Master Splinter normally didn't approve of the turtles having soda, but did allow them to have a small amount when they had the stomach flu. Something about fluids.

After that, he made you brush your teeth again, and he wiped your forehead with a cool wrap before ya went to bed again, this time, with different sheets and pillowcases that didn't smell all mediciney and yuck. Then, lather, rinse, repeat for a day or two, maybe with some hot soup, and you were up and kicking.

But there wasn't any of that this time. Master Splinter had become ill, just as he, Mikey, and Donny had, and now the poor guy was lying down in his small alcove with a cool rag over his head. Raph wished that, of all people, well, maybe excluding Mikey, that he had been the one to be well. Not out of selfish desire, but-

"Breakfast!"

Raph mentally groaned. He wondered if a few tears would get him out of this one. He turned to the door-

Too late. The pillow vanished from under him, and Raph yelped as his form went splunking to the bed. Growling, Raph twisted around to meet Leo, who was too busy switching the pillow with another.

"Gosh, this pillow's hot, now..." Leo commented, lying another where Raph's original pillow had been. The red-clad turtle glowered at him as Mikey managed a choked-sort of laugh.

"Considerin' it's Mr. Hothead's pillow, I'm surprised Leo can hold that thing without oven mitts!"

Donny either laughed or sneezed; or a combination of the two. Raph glared at Mikey, but rolled his eyes, and plopped onto the new pillow, shooting up again just as fast.

"Acck! Leo, this pillow is freezing! Where'd you get it, cold storage?"

The leader only blinked at him before picking up the tray he'd lugged into the room from the floor.

"I left the pillowcase in the freezer."

Raph would have laughed if his sense had humor hadn't gone as cold as the block of ice from below him.

"The freezer." he repeated. Leo nodded, a small smile on his face.

"Yes! You were complaining that it was too hot in here...well, problem solved!"

Raph sourly stared at him before picking up the pillow, and bashing it against the wall. It made a loud, deafening THUD! that left Raph rolling his eyes.

"I could use this thing for a gong, Leo. But silly me, I forgot gongs make nifty pillowcases."

Leo just shook his head before presenting the first tray to Raph, who eyed it apprehensively.

And, as Leo lifted the lid off the small pot, he'd found he'd been right to do so.

It might have been oatmeal once. The smell said otherwise; more like burning socks and something a sick cat might have spit up. Raph stared at the platter with horror as Leo proudly advanced with his small tray over to Mikey.

Raph halfheartedly reached for the spoon that would undoubtedly need to be ripped out, thrown in a trash bag, and buried somewhere very far away later on for the contact. But to Raphael's surprise, the spoon would not come free. Annoyed, he tugged at it, and at last, it came free...

...only, the oatmeal came free from the bowl. The spoon was stuck inside the burned mixture, but the oatmeal came loose from the bowl, as if it were a mere Popsicle, and the spoon its wooden stick.

Raph went a much richer shade of green then how he usually was.

* * *

Whatever had died on this plate had died an awful lot.

Mikey swallowed, then winced at the resounding sting his throat vehemently gave in response. Eyes watering, both from fatigue and the terrible smell that was omnipresent on the small tray in front of him in the shape of pure, unmolested evil, the tired, orange-clad turtle closed them, resisting the urge to whimper.

"Well?"

Mikey opened his eyes. Oh, how he wished he hadn't done that. Leo was still perched by Mikey's bed, eyes sparkling proudly as Mikey dumbly turned his face back to what might have once been eggs. Or, volcanic ash. Either guess might have been congruent.

"U-Um...Leo?"

"Yes?"

"Remember when I said I l-like my eggs sunny-side up?"

The turtle next to Mikey nodded, smiling.

"Yeah. I may have burned one or two of the first, but this one came out okay."

Mikey glanced at the charcoal on his plate. Gosh, Leo must have burned the other eggs to incineration. He turned over the eggs, ignoring the sloppy tea mug in front of him._ How does someone ruin tea?_

"Leo, I don't see the sunny. It actually looks like the forecast says rain."

"Oh, come on, Mikey, they're not _that _bad."

Mikey stabbed at his eggs, feeling sickened as he turned to what he assumed might have once been toast...albeit burned past recognition.

* * *

"Leo, I, um..."

Donny buried himself deeper inside his blankets, wondering if he could will the breakfast place full of death away with his mind. He closed his eyes, screwed his face up, and concentrated.

...no.

...still nothing.

...nada.

Donny sighed, opening his eyes in time to see Leo give him a very strange look.

"Donny, you okay? Want me to get you anything? If you don't want porridge, I can whip you up something else, if you like."

The polite way to answer was 'no, thanks,' but the one Donny was itching for was, 'I'd rather stew roadkill in a gallstone sauce, thank you very much.' But Don just shook his head as he stirred the cement-like mixture.

"...Leo, why'd you put mustard on this?"

"I thought it would look better."

Don stared at the shapeless mess in front of him.

It reminded him of igneous rocks, or yuck molecules, or one of those countries that looks like where they are going to build a country one day, or that yellow goop Don had seen gradeschoolers use on the TV to glue a bunch of things to a piece of poster board to be hung up in a hallway, and then never spoken of again.

That, or a taco shredded through a processor. The possibilities were endless. Don cast a pleading glance at Leo, who was bending over to wring out a small handkerchief in a bucket of cold water.

"Um, t-thanks? But, I, um, Leo?"

"Hmm?"

The blue-clad turtle turned around, just as Raph was about to tell him to take the food-or what might have once been food-back to the kitchen. And then, preferably flung into the sewers, though never in a canal. The water was polluted enough as it was. But both the red and purple clad turtles fell silent, while Mikey poked at his egg again, looking nauseous.

"Hey, Leo? What happened to your hands?"

Leonardo glanced down at his bandaged fingertips.

"Mmm? Oh, had an accident with the stove. I forgot to wear mitts."

"Why the shell would ya do that for?" Raph asked incredulously, albeit somewhat hoarsely. Those cuts looked pretty nasty.

Leo simply shrugged. Mikey glanced up.

"Uh...Leo? Question: Why didn't you make us cold cereal?"

"That would have been burned, too," muttered Raph underneath his breath. "_Leo_ would find a way to set it on fire."

Leo's brow furrowed. "Sensei said it was best that you guys ate something hot. So, well..."

He shrugged, before starting, as if he remembered something.

"Oh! I was going to bring those bingo mats for you guys to play with...but..."

Mikey pitifully shook his head.

"Leo, Leo, Leo. Don't you know that bingo was invented in ye olden days when people played bingo to have something to do until Fun was invented?"

Leo rolled his eyes, but smiled.


	2. Bad Jokes and Burned Artichokes

Sick Day

Leoの中心はである純粋、しかし….

Bad Jokes and Burned Artichokes

* * *

Hallo, everyone. Hoping you're all well. Gosh, I can't seem to shake the habit of saying this...but...ah, heck. If you guys don't mind, then I guess it's just fine.

And thus, we continue with our story. Poor little Leo...*Sighs.* It can't be easy to tackle a houseful of chores, let alone sick brothers and a father who aren't quite used to your cooking...

Please, take care, everyone, and, if you're wondering where Mikey gets half of his bad jokes and puns, look no farther. I advise you flee now if you don't have the stomach for it.

* * *

_Quote:_

_"When the sun was setting, all those who had any that were sick with various diseases brought them to Him; and He laid His hands on every one of them and healed them."_

_Luke 4:40

* * *

_

He had heard rumors from above in his daily scavenging of the flu virus supposedly running about America, sending quite a few denizens in politics into a right stir. He'd read in the papers he'd whisked from the bins about schoolrooms were now required to have a small container of hand sanitizer in each room, and about reported cases of the flu having fatal repetitions.

He had heard them, and, in case the rumors were correct, had taken certain precautions. Much to his sons' consternation, they now had to take baths both morning and night, instead of the usual once a day routine. And while the turtles were used to wiping their hands after the family went sewer scavenging, Splinter had insisted that they thoroughly scrub their hands before and after handling any usual items of surface world refuse.

And yet, after all that...

_"Aa-choo!"_

Leaning up somewhat awkwardly from his small futon and zabuton pillow on his elbow, Splinter sneezed, blinking dully as his headache increased to a full scale headthrob with his latest action. Again, the poor rat sneezed, and withdrew a small handkerchief from the folds of his robes to his nose, sniffing lightly.

His stomach churned uneasily, and he very much doubted he could consume anything without immediately upchucking. His now dry nose burned and tingled unpleasantly when he held a small cloth to it, and, upon tentatively swallowing, winced; his throat was raw, and burned, much like his forehead.

With a sigh, Splinter slowly lowered his head to his box pillow, deep in thought.

Well, there would be no morning exercises with his sons, that was for sure. He supposed it wouldn't hurt to give them a few old exercises for them to do on their own-Leonardo would most likely guilt the others into sticking to their routines as such when the rat wasn't around. Managing a faint, crooked smile, Splinter attempted to move-and regretted it almost instantly.

That movement was a mistake; the entire world began to wildly spin, and the pulsing throb increased inside his stomach and head. Splinter grit his teeth, and fought against the churning in his stomach, forcing last night's supper to stay where it was. Shaking his head profusely, the rat pressed a hand to his bedding, and, pushing against it, managed to obtain the leverage he needed to slowly rise to his feet, stiffening as to not lose his balance. For a moment, Splinter allowed the world to swim before his eyes, then dispelled the trembling with a small shake of the head before burying his face in his hands.

There were many words to describe what the rat was feeling right now, but only one seemed quite appropriate to sum it up:

_"Nnnnnggghh."_

Splinter let out a light groan, and rubbed at slightly reddened eyes, feeling disoriented.

Was that the very same bug he'd woken up with-the one he'd read about in the papers? Oh, he hoped not. He didn't believe so, for while he felt miserable, he doubted he had a temperature high enough to qualify with the concerning symptoms.

Splinter staggered towards the door, footsteps still close together.

Goodness gracious, it was warm in here. But perhaps that was for the best; after all, Master Yoshi got sick sometimes when the man was not careful, and pushed himself harder then necessary in training exercises. Yoshi then normally sweat it out, Splinter along with him, occasionally.

But that was neither here nor there. He had to knock on the door of his sons' conjoined rooms, warn them that he was ill, and thus advise them to stay away from him, at least for today.

He took another step forward,feeling weary. His sons could prepare cereal and sandwiches for breakfast and lunch, and, if he still felt sick by evening, maybe he'd simply tell them to have a combination of lunch and breakfast for dinner. Either would be fine. Splinter didn't want to be near his sons right now, let alone touch anything the turtles were going to consume. The last thing he needed was to have four sneezing, achy, feverish turtles on hand, especially while the rat could hardly walk in a straight line without getting dizzy. The same had happened when the turtles were but a fortnight old, and, with all five Hamatos sick, with four babies screaming...

The rat shuddered as he opened the small door, only to start back. Leonardo was standing there with a bright eyes, and a tray covered with a small towel.

"Mornin', Master Splinter! I heard ya coughing like the others this morning, so I guess you'll want breakfast too, huh?"

* * *

For a moment, Splinter could only stare at his son, bemused. Then, Splinter's dark eyes traveled to the small plate that Leo held, and his heart sank.

One fateful Father's day, Leonardo had had the idea of helping his brothers make 'breakfast in bed,' for Splinter. It hadn't turned out too well. Leo followed the instructions as best as he'd could on the little box, but had soon accidentally scooped up an old Apple Jacks box, and began to read the ingredients upside down.

Splinter woke up in the morning with the smell of smoke heavy in the air, and he HAD eaten the Danish part of the meal to save Leonardo's feelings, but he'd been quite nauseated afterwards. Coughing, Splinter hesitated a few moments, and then finally asked the question he'd been dreading to fire:

"M-my son." his voice came out lower then usual, and a bit garbled. Unable to clear his throat, Splinter merely resorted to speaking up as Leo's concerned orbs continued to look at him, confused.

"You said...'coughing...like the...others.'"

He faltered, afraid of the answer.

"How are your brothers? Are they well, or-?"

Leo shook his head, looking dismayed.

"No. When I woke up, Raph was coughing into a pillow, and Donny needs more tissues, so I have to hurry. I finally got checked Mikey's temperature with the thingamajig, though," he added. "I had to make him laugh. And Raph wouldn't let me take his, so Mikey just told him stuff to make him mad. When he got ready to yell, I just stuck the thingamajig in his mouth!"

He proudly extended the telltale stick from his side, having just wiped it with a wet rag. Splinter stared dully at the evil little device as Leo continued.

"I couldn't tell too much, but Donny says that more red means more fever, and there was a lot of red when I took Don's temperature, a little less with Mikey, and some with Raph. Don't worry-I cleaned it after each use."

The blue-clad turtle extended himself on tiptoe, offering the small device to his befuddled master, who just continued to stare at it in dismay.

Three of his sons were sick. Three-fourths. 75%. More then half. But before Splinter could do any more pondering on the meaning of grief, he could feel a pair of hands pushing firmly at his back, tray now on the floor behind him.

"C'mon, Sensei. Back to bed."

Splinter raised an eyebrow as Leo futilely attempted to guide the rat back to his futon. He managed a weak smile.

"My son, I am well enough. I need to check on the others-"

"But I already did that, Sensei!" exclaimed Leo, now hurrying to stand in front of the door, as if the sheer magnitude of a seven year old could forever hold the rat at bay. "I made them breakfast and got them medicine n'everything!"

Splinter flinched inwardly at the idea of Leonardo making breakfast for the others. Hopefully, Leo wouldn't inadvertently add food poisoning to the Flu tab...

"That's very well, my son, but I need to change their sheets-"

"Already did that." Leo chimed in. "I changed them with the others in the basket."

Now surprised, Splinter thought for a moment.

"Blankets, too?"

Leo spread out his limbs over the door as the rat advanced.

"Yeah. And pillowcases. And I got Mikey a bucket, in case he throws up by the bed again."

"Again?"

"Already been cleaned up.

Splinter made to press a hand on Leo's head, thought better of it, and withdrew it.

"My son, that's all very well and good," the rat said hoarsely, gripping the edge of the door for support.

"But I need to confirm if they have what I do."

Leo frowned.

"I think so. I mean, they don't have spots 'er anything."

"Leonardo."

Looking defeated, Leo sadly allowed the limping rat to hobble after him to the Turtles' room. But as they reached the door, Leo turned around.

"I made breakfast for you too, Master. It's artichoke and some kind of bean soup! It got a little brown...ah...black at the edges, but it should still taste okay."

At least his son didn't seem interested in watching him eat it. Splinter just managed a tight smile.

"...thank you, my son. I'm sure that will be...very fine, indeed."

* * *

It was confirmed-each turtle, while each having a nasty case of the flu, had nothing bed rest wouldn't cure in time, according to Splinter. Then, the rat wearily asked Leo to only serve very light bits of already-made food (Leo thought it was odd how his master seemed to stress that) like saltine crackers, or cold cereal, to his brothers, if they were hungry later on.

Leo wondered if his brothers were delirious; they seemed rather euphoric with the idea.

* * *

The blue-banded turtle walked his master back to bed, much to Splinter's amusement. Thankfully, Leonardo seemed to believe him when he claimed that he still felt far too queasy to eat anything, and so, the burned artichoke delicacy was left on Splinter's old bedside table. The rat made a mental note to be rid of it as soon as possible.

Wanting to be useful, Leo hurried to clean up the breakfast dishes from his brothers, which were all scraped clean. However, when Leo passed a small houseplant Splinter kept in the Lair, he couldn't help but notice that it smelled of charcoal.

()~*~*~()

Leo scoured the entire lair with a mop and broom, before sidling over to his brothers' room. Don had fallen asleep, whereas Raph (who had 'borrowed' one of Mikey's comic books, was reading it underneath the covers. Mikey, however, was snuffling, face flushed, eyes dimmed and expression slack, while he listlessly stared at the ceiling. Leo shuffled to his brother, at a loss of what to do next.

"Mikey, wanna play cards?"

"No."

"Video games?"

"Nu-uh."

"Do you want me to read to you?"

"Nope."

Leo paused for a moment, countenance sad before it brightened.

"They say laughter's the best medicine, Mikey. Ya oughta know that better'n anyone."

Mikey just shrugged halfheartedly from underneath his blankets. Stepping away from the bed, Leo quickly recalled a list of tasteless jokes he'd read in an old book he scrounged from the sewer floors lately, and quickly fired:

"How does the man in the moon eat his food?"

Mikey paused, then turned over in his bed to give Leo a strange look, eyes slightly squinted-over.

"Uh...I dunno. With lots of cheese? The moon's made out of cheese."

Leo just shook his head, and then gently pushed the covers that had slid off Mikey's body when the orange-clad turtle moved back over him.

"Nope. _In satellite dishes_. Get it?"

Mikey snorted; Leo took this as a good sign, and continued:

"Why couldn't the sesame seed leave the gambling casino?"

Mikey cast Leo a confused look, but only shrugged. Mentally wincing, Leo answered:**  
**

"Because he was on a roll."

The bedridden turtle paused, and, upon realizing what his brother meant, began to laugh. Encouraged, Leo quickly thought of another one:_  
_

"What did the cannibal order for take-out?"

"Uh...meat?"

"Close, but no. Pizza-with everyone on it."

Mikey began to snigger. Leo smiled from his position on the stool.

"I trained my dog not to beg at the table," he announced, and Mikey cast him a confused look.

"Uh...since when do you have a dog, bro?"

The blue-clad turtle frowned. "I don't. Just ask, 'how did you do that?'"

"Oh. How did you do that?"

Leo shrugged, an embarrassed smile on his face.

"I let him taste my cooking."

At this, despite his sore throat, Mikey burst out laughing, and Leo knew that the iron was hot, now.

"What's in an astronaut's favorite sandwich?"

Mikey was laughing too hard to answer, so Leo simply did.

"Launch meat! And what did the mayonnaise say to the refrigerator?"

Mikey rolled over in his sheets, giggling and gasping for breath.

"I-d-don't-know! Tell me!"

"Close the door, I'm dressing!" exclaimed Leo, as Mikey began chortling again. Now awfully tired of these dumb jokes, Leo continued nonetheless.

"What did the left eye say to the right eye? _Between us, something smells. _And, what's the worst thing about being an octopus?"

"Being a popular sushi select?"

"Well...yes," admitted Leo. "But there's also washing your hands before dinner."

Mikey burst out laughing, and Leo could hear Raph sullenly tell Mikey to, as he put it, 'button his yap' from underneath the covers. Just one more...

Leo's thoughts quickly raced, and he at last found a suitable joke.

"What did one knife say to the other?"

Mikey was still rolling over his pillows, giggling. Leo exclaimed,

_"Look sharp!"

* * *

_

How Splinter did this as often as he did, Leo would never know. Eyes drooping, fatigue dripping at every muscle, and his thoughts incorporating the words swimming below him on the page as sheer gibberish, the Leader sighed before continuing in the _Annus Mirabilus Papers_ that Don had found just two weeks ago in the sewer undergrounds.

Leo thought he might understand why it had been abandoned in the sewers in the first place as he turned a page, and dully went on, faltering over some of the more difficult words:

"...the same laws of el...ele...electrodynamics and optics will be valid for all frames of reference for which the equations of mechanics hold good."

Leo's eyes flickered slightly, and he had to stifle a yawn as Don listened raptly beside him in his bed, eyes expectant as Leo hid a yawn behind the large textbook perched on his lap.

At the very least, reading this served two purposes: It made Donny happy to listen, and, as for Mikey, well, the orange-clad turtle had fallen asleep within minutes of Leo's aloud explanation of the Electrodynamics of Moving Bodies. Leo thought Raph _might_ have fallen asleep underneath his covers, but couldn't tell.

Reluctantly moving his eyes from the unsteady rise and fall of Raph's chest, Leo pressed his eyes back to the book.

"We will raise this conjecture (the purport of which will hereafter be called the "Principle of Relativity") to the status of a postulate, and also introduce another postulate, which is only apparently irreconcilable with the former, namely, that light is always propagated in empty space with a definite velocity **c** which is independent of the state of motion of the emitting body. These two postulates suffice for the attainment of a simple and consistent theory of the electrodynamics of moving bodies based on Maxwell's theory for stationary bodies..."

The exhausted turtle was devoutly thankful when Donny's eyes finally closed. Sinking the heavy book on a makeshift shelf Donny had next to his bed, Leo wearily then pulled out the basin of icy lavender water he had prepared just an hour ago, pulled out a soaking rag, carefully wrung it out, and then, placed it folded on Don's forehead before tiptoeing away, desperate for a good night's sleep after he checked up on the others.

* * *

Raph did not move when prodded, much to Leo's relief. He'd fallen asleep under the covers, which was good. Hopefully, if he didn't kick off the covers during the night, he'd sweat a little of the fever off, and feel a bit better in the morning.

There was no way of knowing for sure, but Mikey felt a little cooler to the touch, now. Ditto, Donny. And Master Splinter, upon Leo's checking up on his father, had fallen asleep on his futon, a small paperback book loosely in his hands. Tired, Leo drew the book back onto the rat's faded shelf, carefully tucked the rat in, and, before leaving, tapped his hand exactly seven times on Splinter's bedding. It couldn't hurt.

Finally, when all was said and done, the dishes were wiped clean, the laundry hanging up on the clothesline, the kitchen smelling just a little less of miscellaneous burned things, and the floor swept, an exhausted Leo dragged himself off to bed, his eyes closing as soon as his head hit the pillow.

############################################################################################

But, most unfortunately, Leo did not sleep till morning. Tired as he was, a strange noise began to crawl into his dreams, blending and twisting them all in peculiar ways while the turtle wriggled underneath his covers, confused. At last, feeling cranky and disheveled, Leo's eyes opened, and the turtle listened closely, irritation giving way to confusion.

Someone was crying.

Now feeling worried, Leo stiffly sat up, and drowsily turned his head about in the room. Mikey lay fast asleep on his bed-and likewise Donny. Their sleep was unmolested; undisturbed. Respective fevers must have tugged them into a deep slumber.

Leo hesitantly got out of bed, feeling worried as he listened attentively. It wasn't Master Splinter crying-the sound was too close, and he could easily tell that voice wasn't that of his father's.

But that left...

Flummoxed, Leo turned his head to Raphael's bed, where the red-cloaked turtle was sitting up instead of lying down, crying.

* * *

"Raph...?" the young turtle asked, his voice a soft whisper as he stared at his older brother, who appeared not to have heard him.

It was incomprehensible. Raphael rarely ever cried. And when he did, well...

Now very much concerned, Leo crossed the room in two strides, until he was standing directly in front of his brother's bed, not at all certain of what to do next.

"Raph!" he tried again, albeit a little louder this time.

The crying ceased quite abruptly, but sniffling sounds still floated from over the head of darkness.

"What?" he asked angrily. "Quit botherin' me!"

Leo frowned.

"Why're you crying?"

"Leave me alone. I want Splinter."

The seven year old resumed whimpering, and at this point, Leo was far more asleep then awake.

"Why? Sensei's sick too, you know," he said nervously, pacing from one foot to the other in the dark.

"What happened? Are you okay? You're...you're not hurt, are you?" he asked, feeling anxious pangs beat on the inside of his stomach. Had he done something wrong, and made Raph sicker?

Another pause.

"If you tell Mikey," the voice threatened, and Leo was relieved to have a little more of the Raph he knew, "I swear, I'll...I'll..."

"Never speak to me again?" offered Leo, now trying to be helpful. "Beat me up, hide my stuff, knock 'da palooka outta me?'"

Another pause. Leo couldn't really see Raph very well, but he could tell the visage was wiping his eyes with his wrist.

"Yeah. Dat's what I'll do. Because I...I..."

Raph swallowed.

"I threw up. I didn't _mean_ ta! I just woke up and my stomach was twistin' up n'stuff, and I tried to get to da bathroom, but it was too late! I spewed my cookies on the sheets!"

Leo blinked. Oh, so that was it. After glancing to see that neither Don or Mikey had been woken, Leo turned to a tearful Raphael, and inched closer to the bedding before wincing at the sight. Yep...that'd been what happened.

The blue-clad turtle thought for a minute.

"Okay. We'll just put these in the basket, and change them for..."

He faltered. Oh. That was right. He'd washed them, today. The basket was empty. And all the sheets had been hung up to dry just hours ago. They'd still be pretty wet, if not still drip drying!

But inspiration struck Leo, and the turtle quickly thought of what Splinter would do in this situation.

"It's not your fault, Raph. I should have put a bucket or something by your bed. The bathroom's far off."

Another sniffle.

"Yeah. It is." Then-

"Leo, I think I'm gonna-"

In a flash, Leo had seized his brother by the hand, and the two made a dash for it out of the room, and, just in time, Leo held Raph's head over the toilet as Raph began to upchuck once again.

* * *

For a few moments, Leo stood by Raph as the miserable, red-clad turtle ejected the contents of his tummy into the bowl before Leo wandered off to the bedroom, and began to strip everything; the pillow covers, the comforter, the bed sheets. Yuck. Leo threw them into the empty basket, now feeling very sick himself. He hoped he wouldn't have to clean these himself later on. They looked-and smelled-rather gross.

Then, Leo proceeded to strip his own bed of everything, and hurriedly began to place his own sheets on Raph's bed-as well as he could in the dark. Raph wouldn't know the difference. Then, Leo tugged the basket of Raph's sheets out of the room, holding a hand over his mouth, making a face.

Y-U-C-K. It was in times like these he wished his family had a washer and dryer.

Leo bustled back to the bathroom, where the unpleasant sounds of Raph being violently sick had faded to him being moderately ill every few minutes, to retching, to gagging, to gasping. Raph had flushed, and the sweaty turtle was bent over on the bathroom floor, looking flushed. Leo took care to keep his distance as he placed a hand on the ridge of Raph's shell.

"You okay? Are you...done?"

Raph only nodded. Pleased, Leo reached for the old, cracked cup that the turtles kept by the ancient sink, and, after standing on tiptoe, managed to fill the cup full of water. Sloshing a bit, Leo offered it to Raph.

"You should rinse out a few times. Then, I can get you something, if you want."

Raph only shook his head, but took the cup, and greedily began to chug its contents down. Leo frowned.

"Hey! I said 'rinse,' not drink!"

Raph only shrugged, gulping down the water with a weak smile. "Same difference."

But, to appease his brother, he did stand over the sink and rinse-and even gargled a few times to get his point across.

* * *

"There was still some clean sheets, left?"

Raph sounded surprised. Leo shrugged, suppressing a yawn.

"Y-Yeah. I found some that I didn't wash, so it's okay."

Raph stared at him sheepishly in the dim light of the bathroom.

"Uh...gee. Thanks. And thanks, for, uh...today."

Leo smiled faintly.

"No problem. But let's go back to bed. I kinda have a headache."

* * *

Once Leo had seen Raph had slipped off to sleep, the blue-clad turtle trudged off to the overstuffed living room sofa. Leo plopped down on it with a sigh, and thought no more.

)()()()

"...geez, Raph why didya take all Leo's sheets?"

The voice sounded indignant. There was a growl in response. Leo shifted, eyes still closed, though a light frown began to shape his brow. Why wouldn't they go away, and let him sleep?

"Hey, knock it off! I didn't KNOW they were his, okay? He said there were more sheets-I just-I didn't know!"

Someone poked at his forehead. Leo's eyes scrunched up, and the small turtle turned away, frowning lightly as Don's voice chimed in, sounding guilty:

"Um...guys? He feels kind of hot. D'you think he's...?"

Don trailed off for a moment before his voice perked up again.

"Oh, Master Splinter? What do you think?"

A voice, still raspier then normal, answered.

"I think, my sons, that you need to stop poking Leonardo, and get to bed."

Grumbles from all around him. Leo fidgeted in surprise as he felt his body rise up from the sofa cushions not of his own accord, heard a grunt, and began to feel himself move about the floor below him. The turtle pouted as he tried to wriggle away, more dazed and disoriented then anything else.

His face was pressed against rough fabric that had a familiar, clean scent of basil and jasmine, and a soft hand pressed against his forehead, inadvertently burning him. Wincing in discomfort, Leo turned again, eyes drearily opening, dimly flickering.

His could see flashes of brown, black, and gray, and maybe a little orange. Was Mikey nearby?


End file.
